


Phi-lo-so-phy

by Lleu



Category: Stardew Valley (Video Game)
Genre: Books, First Kiss, M/M, masturbation reference
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-14
Updated: 2019-12-14
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:41:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21797020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lleu/pseuds/Lleu
Summary: “Hey, maybe one day soon we’ll have dinner and discuss....phi-lo-so-phy. Isn’t that what you smart people talk about?”The farmer offers to help Alex work his way up to philosophy.
Relationships: Alex/Male Player (Stardew Valley)
Comments: 9
Kudos: 263
Collections: Yuletide 2019





	Phi-lo-so-phy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jibber_jabber](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jibber_jabber/gifts).



> thanks to D & E for betaing.

“Really, though,” the farmer says to him after they both laugh — it _was_ , mostly, anyway, a joke — “if you’re interested in philosophy, just let me know: I can recommend some things for you that wouldn’t be too ridiculously long, or difficult, I hope, and I’d be happy to read them with you and talk about them.” He sighs. “Not that I’m not happy on the farm, but I’ve been missing literary theory a bit.”

“It’s been a while,” Alex admits, ashamed, “since I read _any_ literature. I wasn’t very good at it at school.”

The farmer smiles at him then. “Well,” he says, “maybe you’d appreciate my suggestions for _literature_ first, and we can go back to philosophy after.”

Alex isn’t sure why his heart is racing in his chest, but he says, “Yeah, that would be nice.”

“Perfect,” the farmer says, then looks at the clock. “Oh, damn, I have to get to Clint’s house before he closes the smithy for the day. I’ll see you soon, though!”

“’Bye,” Alex says, and the farmer hurries off, leaving him alone in his bedroom again.

*

Alex doesn’t forget, the next day, but he figures the farmer will have — just a throwaway conversation, still mostly a joke. To his surprise, though, it seems the farmer was serious, because he knocks on the door to Alex’s room that afternoon while he’s working out.

“Hey,” the farmer says when Alex opens it. “Can I come in?”

“Sure,” Alex says, stepping back to let him by. He’s suddenly self-conscious about the fact that he’s not wearing a shirt, but he can’t put one on without drawing attention to his discomfort, so he leaves it on the floor where it is.

“Look,” the farmer says — apparently oblivious to Alex’s half-nakedness — and he takes off his backpack, opens it, and pulls something out. He offers it to Alex: a book. “How does this look to you?”

Alex takes it, their fingers brushing, just for a second, and reads the back cover. A fantasy novel, about — apparently — a sports team on their way to some kind of international magic competition. He’s surprised, and this must have shown on his face, because the farmer says, with a sigh, “Wait, do you not like fantasy?”

“I do, I do!” Alex assures him quickly. “It’s just that I figured you’d have something, you know, _heavier_. Some classic. Isn’t that what you academic types read?”

“A lot of us — of them, I should say.” The farmer smiles a little. “But not me. I wrote my dissertation on fantasy and sci-fi.”

“Huh.” Alex turns the book over in his hands and looks at the front cover. “Yeah, this looks good.”

“Perfect,” the farmer says again. “Start with this and we’ll talk about it when you’re done.”

“That sounds good to me,” he hears himself say.

“See you later, then!” the farmer says, closing his backpack and grinning at Alex. “I have to get up to Robin’s now.”

“Goodbye,” Alex says.

“Don’t rush through it,” the farmer says as he’s leaving. He turns back to Alex and smiles; Alex smiles back. “Enjoy it — take your time.”

“I will.” The front door closes behind the farmer, and Alex looks down at the book in his hands. His workout can wait, he decides.

*

His workout ends up waiting a full day and a half, which is how long it takes him to finish the book, which he reads faster than anything he’s read since he was...five, maybe? Six? His bookshelf is mostly books about gridball, some of which are novels and most of which aren’t. He hasn’t read any of them, anyway, as his grandfather observes when he brings the book with him to dinner, open till the last moment and then closed on the table next to his napkin.

“Haven’t seen you reading a book in a long time,” he says, nodding at it. “Nice change of pace from the gridball.” If it were anyone else Alex would have assumed this was a dig at his...well, his life’s dream, really. But he knows his grandfather well enough to know he doesn’t mean it that way; it’s just an observation.

So he agrees: “Yeah, it is. The farmer lent it to me.”

His grandparents both nod approvingly, although of course his grandfather is still frowning. “Good to see someone taking on that old farm,” his grandmother says. “It’s been lying fallow too long.”

“Does this mean we’ll be seeing even more of that farmer?” his grandfather asks. A rhetorical question; the farmer is everywhere these days, it feels like. Of course they’ll see more of him. “He’s a busybody. I’ve already got one doctor telling me what to do; don’t know that I need another one.”

“He’s not that kind of doctor, Grandpa,” Alex says, rolling his eyes. He doesn’t say: _He’ll come back for his book, at least_. He’s aware, though, suddenly, for the first time, that he — or part of him — wants something _more_. _Oh_.

Something must have shown on his face, because his grandfather mumbles, awkwardly, “It was just a joke.”

“We know, George,” his grandmother says, when Alex doesn’t answer. “Right, Alex?”

“Right, sure,” Alex says, distracted. “Excuse me.” He stands up abruptly, grabs the book, and goes outside.

The fresh air under the tree usually clears his head, but tonight it’s not working, for some reason. His thoughts are racing — in circles around the farmer. His laugh. His smile. His eyes...

He recognizes these feelings — he’s had crushes before. Just...always on girls, before. And it’s been a while. Maybe it’ll...go away on its own?

*

It doesn’t, of course. He knew it wouldn’t. And it’s definitely a crush, now; he can’t deny it. He’s not sure what that means for him. He’s always thought of himself as straight — or, no, he’s never really thought of himself as _anything_ , because he didn’t have to. But now maybe he’s...something. Bi? He’s pretty sure he’s still into women, at least in theory.

No, scratch that: he’s sure. At least, he can still get off thinking about women while he jacks off. It’s just harder to focus on them now; the farmer keeps intruding instead — and that in itself is new: he rarely thinks about people he knows, even people he has a crush on.

But while he may not work out like Alex does, farm work clearly has its benefits, physically speaking. Alex tries — really, he does — but still, reliably, a couple nights a week, when he cums he’s thinking about the farmer’s strong arms, his hands, what his chest must look like under that shirt, wondering what it would feel like to touch him, kiss him —

_Shit._

*

The farmer keeps lending him books and Alex keeps taking them.

“So, what did you think?” the farmer asks when Alex finishes them.

At first the best Alex can do is: “I liked it a lot” or “It was funnier than I was expecting” — answers that say basically nothing, when it comes down to it. Slowly, though, the farmer draws him into more involved conversations; to his surprise he finds he _likes_ talking about books. And — even more surprising — the farmer seems to think he has interesting things to say about them. Or, at the very least, he’s good at pretending he’s interested in what Alex has to say.

They talk about other things, too, from time to time. The farmer arrives once when Alex is working out — “Sorry I have no shirt on,” he says, struggling not to blush — and Alex finds himself admitting that he’s less and less sure every day that going pro is a realistic goal, or (he doesn’t say) what he actually wants to do.

“Anyway,” he says, “I want to apologize to you for bragging and being annoying about it. I, um. I appreciate that you stayed friends with me through all that.”

The farmer seems taken aback, but pleased. “Don’t apologize,” he says. “I admire that you’ve got a goal for yourself and are working towards it, even if you’re not sure you can make it there. I feel...” He pauses. “I have no idea what I’m doing here, really. I have a PhD in fantasy and science fiction — what do I know about farming? But.” He shrugs. “I don’t know. I love the Valley. I love the people here.”

He looks at Alex and smiles — bashfully? Alex does, this time, turn bright red; to cover his embarrassment he hurriedly starts lifting weights again.

*

He’s starting to be reconciled to the fact that he’s got — _feelings_ for the farmer. That he wants to kiss him and hold his hand and. Other things. He doesn’t have a lot of experience, and never with another guy, but...

They start to hang out more, talking about books — the farmer’s got him started on some philosophy and literary theory now, mostly newer stuff; it’s interesting, although to be honest Alex prefers the fantasy and sci-fi (or the lit theory _about_ fantasy and sci-fi) — and about other things.

“You know,” Alex says one day while they’re in his room, Alex on the floor in the middle of his workout routine, the farmer sitting on his bed, flipping idly through the last book he lent Alex, “if my hair weren't so popular with the ladies, I swear I'd shave it all off in a second.” He pauses and looks at the farmer, curious to see how he’ll react. _Is he blushing?_

“If you want to,” the farmer says, and he’s _definitely_ blushing, “I think...I think you should go for it.” Interesting.

Alex looks away and picks up his routine again; he wonders what else that advice applies to.

*

He finds Alex on the beach at the end of the summer, twelve years to the day after his mother’s death. Alex is sitting by the ocean, crying — not that he’d admit it. But the farmer surprises him. He’s holding something behind his back and he looks nervous, but his expression changes when he sees Alex’s face.

“What’s wrong? he asks. Alex hugs his knees tighter to his chest and looks away. He feels the farmer sit down next to him but doesn’t look at him.

Finally he says: “It was today, twelve years ago...that my mom died.”

“Oh,” is all the farmer says.

“I still remember her well,” Alex says, the words coming in a rush now — reassuring himself as much as sharing a memory: “She’d make salted radish sandwiches for lunch, toss the gridball with me in the backyard...” He stops, taking a deep breath to prevent himself from sobbing. “She took good care of me and...I was too young to really say thanks. Now she’s...gone forever.”

"Oh,” the farmer says again, softer. “Alex.”

He looks down at his hands, turns over the thing he’s holding. “This is the only keepsake I have left, really. Her secret music box.”

He opens it and music comes out, some tinkly piano piece he doesn’t know the name of. Maybe it was written just for this music box. He feels, suddenly, an arm around his shoulder — the farmer. Alex looks at him and sees that the farmer, too, is tearing up. Alex smiles at him. “Thanks for being here with me.”

The farmer hesitates, then says, “I’ll always be here for you if you get lonely.”

Alex smiles. “Thanks. I...you’re different from other guys. It’s...nice. I’m glad we met.” Then he collects himself. “Well. No sense just sitting here. Let’s get back to town.”

He stands up and the farmer follows suit, still keeping...whatever it is hidden behind his back.

“Hey,” Alex says, “um. Don’t tell anyone I was crying, okay?”

“Of course,” the farmer says; then he laughs.

“What?” Alex says.

“Nothing,” the farmer says.

“ _What!_ ” Alex says. The farmer turns to leave, grinning from ear to ear, and starts striding confidently back up the beach. Alex finally sees what he was holding behind his back: a bouquet. “Hey!”

He chases him up the beach, and the farmer’s laughing, and Alex is suddenly laughing, too, wildly, and maybe he’s crying again — but, he assures everyone who listens when they tell this story later on, in a _good_ way — as he tackles the farmer on to the soft, warm sand ( _like a pro_ , part of him thinks), and suddenly Alex is sitting on top of the farmer, straddling him, pinning his arms to the sand. One of his hands is holding a bouquet of flowers from the general store.

They stop and stare at each other, smiling. The farmer says, “Are you crying again?”

“Shut up!” Alex says, but there’s no force behind it. “Were you going to ask me out?”

The farmer pauses for a long moment, and Alex realizes that he’s gathering his courage. Finally he says, “Do you want me to?”

Alex thinks about this for...less time than he expected it would take for him to make up his mind. “Yes,” he says after a moment. “I feel the same way. I’m...nervous, but. Yes. I didn’t know...or I wasn’t sure...if you felt the same.”

“Is it too cliché to say ‘since the day we first met’?” the farmer asks with a laugh. Then, more seriously: “Can I...um...can I kiss you?”

Alex hesitates, then answers by — a little awkwardly — leaning down and kissing the farmer.

It’s good.

“Yeah,” he says when he finally pulls away. “You can kiss me if you want to.”


End file.
